Contradiction
by Least
Summary: Zexion analyzes the variations of a certain scent without really wanting to. Then he contradicts himself. [Zemyx]


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**Title: **Complicated  
**Rating:** T . Because I took a wild guess.  
**Pairings:** Zemyx with mentions of AkuRoku, XemnasSaïx, and MarluxiaLarxene.  
**Word Count: **666  
**Warnings:** Talk about sex and blatant ignorance of the Nobodies-don't-love-or-even-feel rule because I just don't care anymore.  
**Summary: **Zexion analyzes the variations of a certain scent without really wanting to. Then he contradicts himself.  
**Opening Notes: **The first draft of this was scribbled out on a notepad hocked from some hotel years and years ago with a pink highlighter on the ground where I had fallen out of bed at half an hour to midnight after being unable to sleep due to a caffeine high from the July 4th barbeque a few hours previous. The second draft was scribbled out with the same materials and in the same conditions at midnight on the back of said kidnapped notepad.  
**Disclaimer: **I claim nothing that's not mine to claim.  
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Zexion hated the scent of sex.

It came in three variations, that loathsome scent.

The first variation, the least revolting one, he had gotten somewhat accustomed to. He was far from falling out of hate with it, but it now did slightly less than make his stomach twist in bouts of fear and disgust. It was the scent that was constantly floating around the area of the Superior's room in an extremely obnoxious way. The scent told him sex. It told him what Saïx's painful yet well-disguised limp told everyone else. It was sex, but that wasn't all. The scent spoke of pain, lust, torture, danger, insanity, and so on. Doubtlessly, his first reaction to it had been fear and nausea. Now that reaction was limited to a simple shudder of distaste.

There was a second variation, something that rarely failed to strike some sort of confusion in him. He never quite understood the tones of that scent completely, not that he wanted to. As Marluxia enjoyed keeping both his and Larxene's rooms smelling like an over-stocked flower shop, it was rare that he would catch a waft of that disturbing scent. The scent did tell him something. It was sex, obviously enough. The pain and lust was there, maybe a slight sense of danger as well. There was something else, however, that gave that scent a softer tone. He never knew what it was until he was introduced to that third variation of the scent.

This last one had caused him to become severely ill more than once and he now made it a point to avoid the rooms marked with the figures VIII and XIII at all costs. It was still the scent of sex, just like every other scent of sex. Yet it told him something completely different. This was love and love and love. It was something of passion, desire, comfort, happiness, and so on. Love and love and love. It was the sickeningly sweet scent of love.

Three variations. One vaguely frightening, one somewhat confusing, the last ridiculously nauseating.

It was the ridiculously nauseating scent that he woke up to one dark morning. The scent was everywhere, overpowering everything. It was in his room. It was on his bed. It was in his hair. It was **on the sleeping beauty that he was currently tangled up in**. Confusion, nausea, and fear hit him all at once. That he could produce such a scent with Demyx was simply and utterly inconceivable. Unbelievable. Impossible.

Xemnas and Saïx only had their rage. Marluxia and Larxene never came out of their activities unscathed either. Their scents would expose that even when no evidence could be sighted. That lasting bit of hate.

Axel and Roxas were just love and love and love.

He, for all of five minutes after waking up smelling like Axel and Roxas, was not happy to be smelling like love and love and love. He, for all of five minutes after waking up smelling like Axel and Roxas, wanted to retch at the fact that the scent he loathed most had contaminated his body and home. He, for all of five minutes after waking up smelling like Axel and Roxas, was paralyzed with the shock that he had some part in creating such a scent.

Five minutes after he woke, the much too cheery sitarist roused himself to give him a much too cheery smile and a slightly awkward peck on the cheek that he soon regretted in a wince of pain. Their eyes met like a bad romance novel and, for once, his sense of sight told him volumes.

Love and love and love was all it was.

He realized it could be blind idol-worship, but it was still love. He realized it could be a much too complicated love-hate relationship, but it was still love. He realized that sex actually had a rather nice scent when drenched in love.

Sex was all about love.

Zexion loved the scent of sex.  
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**Ending Notes:** My first piece to ever be published to any sort of public, complete. Woo. I don't like it anymore. Now, to sleep until next week.  
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End file.
